


"With All Due Respect"

by DixieDale



Category: Clan O'Donnell - Fandom, Garrison's Gorillas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-20
Updated: 2019-08-20
Packaged: 2020-09-19 03:57:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20324728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DixieDale/pseuds/DixieDale
Summary: Between all the conflicting stories on the grapevine, and all the varying opinions being scattered around, Mack MacKenzie was at a loss as to how to take Lt. Craig Garrison and his men.  He'd thought working with them would make it easy to make up his own mind.  Somehow, it just wasn't that easy, but by the end of that mission in Rumania, he was ready to cast his own ballot.  With all due respect, of course.





	"With All Due Respect"

"With all due respect". 

'Mack' MacKenzie had heard his father, the Right Reverend John T. MacKenzie, use that phrase so often, always with a polite and ever so refined smile, a little sideways tilt to his head, his brows just slightly raised - just his way of expressing his difference with what had just been said or perhaps done. His father was the consummate gentleman, after all; he would hardly use harsh or rude language to express his disagreement. Just those four words, calmly but firmly indicating the other person was, while probably quite well-intentioned, ever so regrettably wrong. Well, indeed, must be, since that person's view was in opposition to the elder MacKenzie's, who, as everyone knew, was always right. It was even a fond family saying, "well, he IS the 'RIGHT' Reverend MacKenzie, after all!"

Mack had never realized how much of a habit that phrase had become in his own vocabulary, how many times would he politely utter those words, have them taken politely, agreeably in return. 

Well, until he spent that short prep time at the Mansion in Brandonshire and caught Garrison's men rolling their eyes whenever they'd hear him say it. 

Til he caught THEM using it among themselves, with a highly ironic tone. 

"With all due respect, Beautiful, not all of us wannna spend Saturday night with our nose in a book, not when there's likely gonna be music at the pub, what with the O'Donnell sisters visitin and all. Might not be as 'high-toned' as that opera stuff you keep going on about, but a hell of a lot more fun."

Casino had offered that with a faintly superior smile, those first four words being accompanied by an odd little sideways tilt to his head and slightly raised brows, (something that looked oddly familiar to the younger MacKenzie), along with a slight New England accent highlighting the words. It contrasted interestingly with the safecracker's usual mode of speech, enough to really stand out. 

"With all due respect, Casino, I know you say you did it on purpose, just to be 'elpful and all, but I still don't see 'ow letting yourself get bashed by that bloke as a 'diversion' was such a good idea, not w'en it put you out for the count, ei? Not with us 'aving to lug you out of there afterwards," Goniff had offered with a slightly reproving look, massaging his low back with one hand, emphasizing just how much of a burden his teammate had placed on him. "Gonna spring my back, there's 'appier ways to go about it, you know!" He managed the little sideways tilt of his head and the raised brows, but didn't bother with the accent. Which was probably just as well; it probably would have merged with the strong Cockney accent even less harmoniously than Casino's attempt.

"With all due respect, Craig, I fail to see how pacing the night away is going to prepare you properly for dealing with HQ tomorrow. Surely some sleep would suit better," Actor had protested when Garrison had, for the second night in a row, headed back to his office at lights-out. The Italian seemingly decided to go for only slightly emphasizing the words and skipping the mannerisms and accent totally, thinking the simple words were sufficient in themselves.

"With all due respect, of course(!), ya damned fool Limey, I don't think that's what the Warden had in mind when he said we needed to keep practicing to keep our skills sharp," Casino had snorted, looking at the round table, the wide array of small items they'd retrieved from the pickpocket after his little 'practicing' episode. By this time, Casino was too annoyed at discovering both his lighter AND his favorite pen in amongst the loot to bother with anything other than the words either. "And sides which, aint that the Warden's watch and best tie clip?" Yes, it was, along with the Sergeant Major's wallet, Private Jenkins' spare master key, and Chief's spare blade. 

The look on Chief's face showed just how much he did NOT appreciate anyone, even Goniff, messing with his knives. Well, along with his extremely dry and straight-faced, "you touch my blades again, with all due respect, Goniff, you're gonna end up a couple inches shorter than you already are, if you get my meaning."

Yes, that phrase did sound awfully familiar.

MacKenzie could only hope he DIDN'T have that same smug note they'd each included in their delivery (except for Chief, and his was just flat out ominous), but he had an uneasy feeling they had to have gotten it from somewhere! It sounded way too familiar and he knew none of these men had ever had the privilege of meeting his father. (Funny, he'd never even considered the tone or the words 'smug' before, but now it was the first word that came to mind). He thought about asking whether they'd used that particular phrase BEFORE he'd arrived at the Mansion to prepare for the joint mission ahead, but didn't quite have the nerve.

In fact, Garrison had even started picking it up, uttering it a few times on his own, though not in the same tone as his men. No, the Lieutenant seemed to echo Mack's own polite inflection. Til on that exit from Rumania. Then it changed. A lot changed on that trip. 

In fact, much to Mack's surprise, that trip changed the way HE ended up using the phrase himself. Well, most anyone could have told him - exposure to Garrison and his Gorillas often had a surprising effect on a person, one way or another. Whether that was a good thing or not was a matter of opinion. Just one more thing to add to the list.

The Beginning:

Mack MacKenzie had arrived in London, settled in to HQ, at least temporarily, and immediately was cabled into the grapevine, a local method of communication somewhat faster than a speeding bullet if perhaps less than accurate in hitting the target. 

But, as MacKenzie quickly came to realize, who could honestly tell whether the target was missed entirely or struck dead-center, when the grapevine itself couldn't seem to make up its mind? About any number of subjects, of course, but particularly about Lieutenant Craig Garrison and his team of wild-card cons. Once the word got about that he was slated to work with them, the grapevine went into overdrive in an effort to enlighten him. He'd heard such a variety of stories, it was enough to make his head spin. He thought he'd probably heard it all by now, though with a few common themes.

**  
"Fine officer, that Garrison, if somewhat wasted trying to lead those cons. Oh, yes, they can be quite effective, but, well, really, not quite the sort for an officer to be involved with. Still, I suppose, for the war effort and all."

"There's a reason he's still a lieutenant! No wonder he got moved over to Special Forces! Even when he's not being outwardly insubordinate, you just KNOW what he's thinking would put him over the line. Just something about the way he looks at you."

"Damned fine team leader, damned fine team. Always glad to see his name on one of my projects; figure our chances just went up by a good measure."

"Cocky young fool! Thinks he knows more than those of us who've been around longer, have more experience with handling hard men. Going to get his head handed to him one of these days when they come up against something too tempting to pass up and he's standing in their way."

"Has just the right touch with his team. I wouldn't want to try to corral them, but he manages just fine; pulls off jobs I'd swear couldn't be done."

"Purblind, that's all I can say! How he can be so effective in his job, yet let those scoundrels pull the wool over his eyes, I just can't understand!"

"A real stickler. Not going to find him up to any nonsense!"

"Bent. Has to be, you know. They've either got a handle on him, or he's sharing in whatever they're pulling in. Birds of a feather and all that!"  
**

How any one man could have so many opinions being circulated about him, and ones on such a wide spectrum, that was a mystery. 

MacKenzie hadn't known quite what to make of the stories about Lieutenant Craig Garrison, not til he was assigned to work with him on that 'if anything CAN go wrong!' mission in Rumania. He was new to this territory, had spent a good part of the war in the States, then in Canada, and finally now in England. He DID get the feeling Garrison wasn't too happy about having a 'non-combatant' along for the ride, but since Mack knew the woman they were meeting, had gone to school with her, had dated her for awhile, they didn't have much choice. Carmen wasn't a trusting soul, and if she was going to turn over incriminating documents, she'd insisted it be to someone she knew.

His time at the Mansion hadn't really clarified things for him, him being the outsider, but hopefully seeing the men in action would help in that regard. They really did have his curiosity aroused.

So, there he was, Mack MacKenzie, alumni of the Naval Academy, most recent (and truly, his ONLY) experience being in a military think-tank, a place where two plus two always equalled four, and where there was a right and a wrong way of doing things, and where you always weighed your options, calculating the odds and never taking unnecessary risks. Now, instead of reaching for a spreadsheet and a slide rule, he was saddling up for a ride on a big metal bird, in preparation for being dropped into war-torn Rumania with another officer and, of all things, a team of convicts recruited for their various larcenous talents. 

Somehow, this is NOT what he thought he was being prepared for when he entered the Naval Academy. Well, at least Garrison was West Point; not quite the same as the Academy, but still, he knew the type, and was sure they'd think along the same lines. 

It had gone wrong almost from the moment they'd hit the ground. 

From the look of resignation on the mens' faces, it was apparent to MacKenzie that that wasn't anything too uncommon, even if the safecracker hadn't made the dry comment, "so, here we go again. Wrong intel, wrong contact info. Ya figure the pilot dropped us in the right country this time, Warden?" 

Actor had just gotten back from a recon in the closest town and delivered the grim news in response. "Oh, the right country, Casino, but unfortunately it would appear there was a slight difficulty with the translation of the town's name, back in London. Merely two letters difference, but one is on the western border and one the eastern. Our information, our maps, our contacts, indeed, our current location are all on the opposite side of Rumania from where the young woman should be waiting. We have a great deal of ground to cover to get to where she is."

Their little Cockney pickpocket had chimed in with an indignant huff. "See, TOLD you there wasn't any reason for me to be cluttering up my brain memorizing all those maps and names and stuff! Aint like I'm gonna be able to use any of it anyway! Aint all that easy, ya know, getting rid of all that once it's stuffed in there!"

That Garrison had seemingly found all the commentary acceptable, even somewhat amusing, particularly the bit from Goniff, made Mack frown a little; it just hadn't seemed appropriate military discipline to him.

Still, somehow they'd made it across half of Rumania to finally get to the town where Carmen had been living for the past three years, got the information without any problem, and headed back out to the exit point.

Headed to, but didn't make it to the exit point. A band of ruffians claiming to be resistance fighters, partisans, felled a large tree right in front of their jeep, not hurting anyone or damaging the jeep, but overpowering the stunned men quickly and taking them captive, and offering Garrison a rather grim arrangement. Either they could all die, then and there, or Garrison could somehow rescue their leader, one Mikosh, who'd been arrested by the Germans.

Oh, and one little added detail. To be sure Garrison played fair, Rogan, the second in command of this little band, would retain custody of two of Garrison's men.

Actor grimly translated, "and he will let you choose, Craig. But if you are not back with Mikosh within forty-eight hours . . ."

"Yeah, I saw that finger across the throat, Actor. Alright, what information does he have? We need every bit if we're to tackle this."

Mack had watched, listened, while the tall Italian asked questions, got answers, relayed them to Garrison. And after thinking things through, Garrison had made his selection - who would stay, who would go - and they left - Garrison, MacKenzie, Actor, and Chief, anyway. 

Mack didn't laugh, certainly; it wasn't a laughing matter, after all, not at all, not when you knew you were seeing two men being abandoned to a certain death. Yet, there was some macabre, nightmarish humor involved, surely, especially with Garrison having seemed so sincere in his final "just hang tight, guys. We'll be back before you know it." He'd even included a quick clasp of each of their shoulders, a brief smile straight into their eyes, getting a grim smile and quick nod of acceptance from both of them. It would appear the Lieutenant's ability to pull off a good con job included being able to fool his own men.

Well, anyone with any sense knew that wasn't going to happen, Garrison, hell, any of them coming back to rescue them, with or without white horses and guns ablazing, but there were the two men being left behind, looking every bit as convinced as that blasted partisan leader had been. Hell, maybe even more so. 

Skilled those guys might be - overly bright, obviously not. And that was rather unexpected; you'd have thought they would have had to developed at least SOME level of self-preservation along the way. Well, maybe not the little pickpocket, who DID seem a rather dense sort, but the other, the safecracker they called Casino, surely HE was smart enough to know the score!

"Lieutenant? How long do you think it'll be before they realize you ARENT coming back for them? Them AND that Rogan character? That's not going to go well. And how are you going to account for them being missing on your report? I'm sure no one will question whatever you tell them overly much, command decisions and all, but still, it will take some finessing, surely. 'Fortunes of war' is a bit vague, after all."

It was a quiet whisper, low enough that the two men in the front of the vehicle, Actor and the one they called Chief, didn't hear, of course. He wasn't sure whether they believed they'd be going back or not, and he didn't want to mess up Garrison's pitch if they still hadn't caught on.

He got only an undefinable look in return, and shrugged, figuring the lieutenant just didn't want to talk about it. Well, that was understandable. Sacrifices were rarely easy, much more painful than what 'losses - two' had seemed to imply in the work he was used to doing; he had a new appreciation for that now. And no matter who the men were, it probably rankled at leaving them behind. If nothing else, it would require an uncomfortable explanation when they got back, no matter WHAT HQ thought about the men personally, and just as uncomfortable letters to be written to their next of kin, if they had such.

No, Mack didn't particularly LIKE the idea of having driven off, leaving two of Garrison's men in the hands of the partisans; they hadn't been a friendly group, and from what they'd conveyed, if Mack and Garrison and the other two didn't come back with their leader, the one currently in the hands of the Germans . . . Well, their descriptions had been rather graphic. The two men might not have understood the words, but the gesture had been quite clear, and the atmosphere had been unmistakably tense.

Still, in war, you made the hard decisions. And really, the main decision, the one to take the partisans up on their 'offer', and hightail it out of there with what could be salvaged, that was a fairly easy one. Not like there had been that much choice.

The next one, to keep going and not look back, that was only logical. Chances of finding the partisan leader, much less retrieving him and getting him back to his people, THEN trying to make a break for the exit? Slim to damn all! They'd completed their mission, had the information; now their only duty was to get home and deliver what they'd been sent to retrieve.

That had left Garrison with the final decision, deciding which two to leave behind as hostages. Mack figured he was pretty well in the clear; HQ would have taken a dim view of Garrison leaving him behind. And of the others? Well, the Englishman, that had been a no-brainer; he was already pretty battered, one knee not working right, moving at a slow pace; he'd just slow them down. It was a shame to lose those talented fingers, but surely his size and his appalling language skills were a detriment to the overall team; he could be replaced. {"Remember, Mack. Just like they taught us - two plus two equals four - no letting emotion jimmy the figures!"} though he had found the man likeable. The one called Actor, the one who acted as Garrison's second in command, he was far too valuable to discard, at least from what Mack had seen - multilingual, expert in disguises, a confident air about him that could let him carry off any number of cons. So it had come down to which of the other two were most easily replaced, and even that hadn't been that hard, or shouldn't have been. A knife and wheel man versus a highly-talented safecracker. But for some reason, Garrison had left the safecracker behind, elected to bring Chief, the youngest of the lot out with them. 

Mack wondered if that had been some misplaced sentimentality or if there was some other reason. There WERE rumors about this team, speculation that Garrison was just too close to the men. Some said just too protective, too lenient, some implied other, less laudable possibilities. That was unlikely, of course, any of it, with a West Point officer, but that was what the rumor mill up at HQ kept spinning. 

HE certainly hadn't seen any prior signs of rampant sentimentality in the man, perhaps a little distracted by the job, letting his crew get a little above themselves, voicing their opinions when their opinions had NOT been asked for. But Garrison had pulled them back in line with a quick word or gesture once he drew himself back to the situation.

Mack had stopped looking over his shoulder once they slid beyond some trees, and started to lean forward and ask Actor something about the exit when the jeep screeched to a halt. Without a word Chief jumped from his position behind the wheel to one standing next to the jeep, Garrison leaping out at the same time. 

The two men looked at each other, square in the eye, and Garrison had nodded once, clasped the young man's shoulder with one firm hand. 

"Chief." Just a name, but it seemed to have conveyed an entire message, by the nod Chief had given in return.

"Yeah, I know, Warden. I'm on it." And somehow, the young man was gone, just disappearing into the foliage.

Mack gaped. "What the hell, Garrison? Where'd he take off to?"

"Back to the others. He'll get as close as he can," Garrison replied as he took the position behind the wheel and drove off at a quick pace.

Mack frowned, then his brow cleared. Leaning forward, speaking loudly to be heard over the engine and road noises, he commented, "ah, you think there'll be trouble if he makes it back, says anything about us leaving those two behind. Surprised he fell for that, though; he's quiet, but I'd pegged him as a bit smarter than that."

Actually, he was rather disturbed at that action; it seemed far more calculating, less acceptable than leaving the other two in the first place. At least with them, there hadn't been much choice; this, this seemed far more self-serving.

He took a fast glance at Actor. {"I guess he trusts Actor NOT to kick up a fuss."}. But for some reason, the con man was looking back at him like he might look at something either embarrassing or maybe slightly disgusting. 

Lieutenant Garrison glanced in the rearview mirror at Mack and wondered just how much he should say. He was busy formulating a plan in his head, didn't have the energy to spare to elaborate too much, just jerked his head toward Actor. 

"Want to explain things to him, Actor? Make it crystal clear; I don't want any trouble out of him. I need to focus on what's up ahead."

Mack looked from one to the other, clearly puzzled. Well, until Actor overcame his obvious distaste enough to explain things. Crystal clear, indeed. 

And Mack realized one thing he hadn't before, what the grapevine hadn't bothered to include in their tally. Lieutenant Craig Garrison was quite insane! Stark, raving mad!

When the hastily formed plan to pull Mikosh out of German hands went down without a hitch, when they even got a new code book in the process, Mack started rethinking that estimation.

{"Well, there's supposedly a fine line between genius and insanity,"} he admitted to himself, deciding Garrison might be slightly on the 'genius' side of the line.

Of course, his opinion shifted back again quickly enough. Perhaps it was their stopping off in that nearby village to say hello to Mikosh's girl friend and pick up a few jugs of tzuica, the local alcoholic beverage made from plums. SO Mikosh had insisted; surely Garrison could have overridden that. Even Garrison should have realized the clock was ticking - on the exit, probably on those two men, no, three men counting Chief, he'd decided he wouldn't leave behind. 

But, no. They stopped, and a happily-roaring Mikosh gathered the laughing Dorca into his arms, swinging her around, while yelling instructions left and right. Admittedly it didn't take too long, Mikosh satisfying himself with a few robust kisses, the jugs loaded and they were off again. Still . . .

They'd gone in a different way than they'd come out, and parked the jeep where Mikosh directed, inside the entrance to a small cave. Evidently others would be coming for the jugs later. A quick trip through a winding tunnel and they were back with the group. 

And as far as the men being dead or injured? The little Cockney was amusing a few of them by performing slight of hand, picking a pocket here and there, chattering away a mile a minute, not that anyone other than the leader knew a word of English, and considering the amount of Cockney cant being tossed around, probably even Rogan was coming up empty. Somehow it didn't seem to matter, and the men were in a good humor, thinking it all wonderful. Casino was doing card tricks, alternating that with talking about 'dames' to men who probably didn't understand a word he was saying either, though his very explicit hand gestures and facial expressions told a pretty good story all on their own. 

Mack wondered briefly what had become of Chief, til he saw Garrison tilt his head slightly and give an acknowledging nod. Then, on the rocks above, leaning with his back against the wall, Mack could barely make out the shadow that seemed to nod in return. 

Relief warred with exasperation, never more so than when the burly Mikosh slapped Garrison on the back, knocking him forward a good two steps, proclaimed him "my great good friend! Now we will share a drink, since my lovely Dorca has gathered tzuica for us!" 

The jugs had obviously arrived, at least three of them, and were being passed around, Garrison and his men being included, Chief having dropped down to the cave floor with a remarkable amount of ease. Mack had thought to refuse the earthenware jug, but the hard glare of warning from Garrison had quickly changed his mind. He was sure he missed part of the conversation after that due to his ears ringing; he had never realized plums could pack quite so much of a punch.

Then, a few hearty farewells, {"probably in the order of 'if you're ever in the neighborhood, stop by for Sunday dinner!"} Mack thought, finding the whole thing highly unprofessional.

On the way to the exit rendezvous he thought over all they'd gone through, and decided he'd had the right of it first time around. Garrison was mad. Oh, he was effective, certainly, a genius possibly, but definitely mad! 

But, quite unlike his disappointing assessment after they'd driven away, leaving two, then three men behind, Garrison WAS an honorable man, one worthy of some serious respect. 

Still, he felt his own code of responsibility pushing at him, reminding him that there was a proper way of handling things, and Garrison had NOT gone about things in the proper way, any number of times. Surely he couldn't let that pass unnoticed. He had a responsibility, after all.

They were safely aboard the sub when he felt he had to be honest with the other officer. It just didn't seem right to go carrying tales without letting Garrison know his intentions. Of course, it hadn't seemed prudent to do so earlier, not with Garrison's crew gathered around. He had the feeling it wouldn't go down well.

He had asked to speak privately, but an impatient Garrison had waved him away. 

"Later," came the absent-minded response, Garrison's focus on Goniff's puffed and blackening knee, Casino's various if less serious souvenirs of combat.

Mack tried again, though giving up the notion of a private meeting. 

"With all due respect, Lieutenant, I must advise you that you have left me no choice but to report the events of the past few days to Headquarters. We came very close to failing in our mission, all because you . . ."

"With all due respect, MacKenzie, report whatever the hell you want to report, but shut the fuck up; I don't have the time, energy or patience to deal with you right now. I have two injured men, and that gives me more important things to worry about," Garrison had replied, not even bothering to turn to look at the stunned officer, being too busy checking with the medic on the injuries to his men. 

No, that was not a replica of his father's, or his own, delivery of the phrase, not in the least!

Hearing that rather crisp rebuff, Goniff had looked up from inspecting his purpled and swollen knee to give a wry grin at Casino, who was getting a few injuries of his own tended. Casino snorted and shook his head at Chief, who allowed a quick twitch to the side of his mouth indicate his own amusement. Yeah, seems the Warden had plain run outta patience with the man.

A cautious question a while later, once they were all settled in the mess, after Garrison had disappeared with Actor to go over his notes, had Goniff patiently explaining the facts of life to Mack, who'd obviously decided he was missing something in the equation. {"And I've always excelled at mathematics, too!"} he thought ruefully.

"Ruddy 'ell, acourse we were worried! Aint a pair of fools, you know! Any number of things coulda gone wrong. Those blokes could 'ave decided it was easier to just tap us then, not bother to wait. The Warden could 'ave come a cropper in trying to get back that Mikosh fellow, or 'e could 'ave been already dead. Ruddy jeep could have tumbled off the side of the mountain for all we knew! But, Mack, the one thing we WEREN'T worried about was the Warden just waltzing away and leaving us there. Aint 'is style, ya know?"

Mack had leaned back against the throbbing bulkhead and thought about that, then turned to Casino.

"And you agree with that? You weren't worried about him just leaving, going ahead and making the rendezvous like planned?"

Casino glowered at him. "Like Goniff says, that aint the Warden's style. Sides, we're a team, all of us. We go out together, we come back together. Least, that's the plan, and so far we've made it work. Sometimes we come back all bunged up, but we come back together, even if we have to drag the other's sorry ass along with us. And, in case yer wondering, that includes the Lieutenant too. He gets himself bunged up as often as any of the rest of us. Maybe more. Then we drag HIS sorry ass back too."

Mack turned to Chief, asking something that had puzzled him all along. "Back there, when we'd left the partisan camp, when you stopped the jeep and just got out. I don't get any of that. I didn't hear him say anything, see him signal you in any way. And he didn't give you any orders, and you didn't even ask."

Chief leaned back, that ever-present knife receiving its usual careful attention, shrugged. "Didn't have to, none of that. Why'd ya think he took me, not Casino? Knew I could slip back, give them some cover without being spotted. He wasn't gonna leave them like that, not if there was any choice. I'm better at that kinda thing than Casino, better with a knife at a distance, close up too. We been this route before. I just stopped at the best close place where no one was likely to see the switch."

Mack was still trying to make sense of all that when Garrison came back, tucking the notebook into his pocket, Actor trailing along behind. 

"Hey, Warden. You look like you need to sit down before you fall down," Casino offered gruffly, while Chief moved to the far side next to Casino to let Garrison sit on the bench next to Goniff. "You too, Beautiful," pushing a waiting cup of coffee over to the conman who'd come to sit at the other side.

"I'm fine; I still need to go over those notes one more time. But you guys should settle down, try to nap for awhile. There's extra space in that billeting through there," pointing toward the side. 

"We get back, we have to get through debriefing before we can head back home; hopefully it won't take too long. I'll see if I can't hide Sergeant Major's alarm clock, maybe get you a few hours extra sleep before he comes looking for you." 

That got a few weary smiles from the team.

Garrison gratefully took a sip of the cup Goniff passed over to him, neither man saying a word, just a faint smile from each seeming to be more than enough conversation to suit them. 

Then Garrison sighed deeply, blinked as if the coffee had had an impact. Well, as strong as it was, it probably did; who knows how long it had been sitting.

"Goniff, how's that knee? You going to be able to walk on it when we get back?" Garrison asked.

Garrison looked every bit as exhausted as his men obviously were, but MacKenzie noted he was making sure his team was taken care of. And that last question? There was no impatience, annoyance at the possible inconvenience that bad knee might create, only a sincere quiet concern.

Goniff wrinkled up his nose doubtfully. "Feels about ten times as big as it should be. Don't know I should be taking any little nap, though; think it'll stiffen up on me if I don't keep moving it. Figure it'll 'ave a chance to rest w'en we get back 'ome. Think maybe I can get a little invalid time, Warden?" 

A look of amusement flashed across each of the men's faces, Garrison's right along with them, and MacKenzie knew there was something he was missing in the unspoken communication.

The slightest hint of sly mischief came over Goniff's face as he said mournfully, "bet Doc Riley would expect me to spend time at the Cottage, as bad as this knee is, w'at with all them stairs at the Mansion, and the khazi all the way down the 'all. Course, the bed there aint the same as my cot at the Mansion, but it would do, I expect. And don't know 'ow I'll get any sleep without these blokes' snoring to lull me off. And the meals, not quite w'at the Sergeant Major puts together, but I expect I'd get by if I put my mind to it. W'atever it takes to get back on the roll as soon as possible."

He plastered a sincere expression of noble self-sacrifice on his face, ignoring the snorts or catcalls from the others.

"I'll think about all of you, I will, when I'm laying there, flat on my back, moaning to the ceiling. Or propped up with pillows maybe; aint made my mind up yet which might be best." 

He had a slightly contemplative frown on his face as he seemed to be seriously considering his options, totally ignoring the assorted comments from his teammates.

Casino was obviously looking around for something to toss at the man, but there wasn't much except for the coffee cup he was holding, and he NEEDED that coffee! He made do with giving the smirking Englishman a few home truths in no uncertain terms.

"Yeah, you'll be thinkin about us, alright, while yer getting tea and scones and hot soup and warm sponge baths, all nice and comfy in that big soft bed. You'll think about us while yer probably getting a hell of a lot more than that! Moaning to the ceiling! Give me a break! Sheesh! Yeah, maybe, but not cause a that damned knee!"

Chief let just the flicker of a smile ease out. "You don't mind, Goniff, I'd just as soon you weren't thinking about us all that time. Figure you need to keep your mind on . . . Well, not on US, anyhow. Sides, just don't seem right, ya know?"

Garrison was trying to keep his face under control, but not succeeding as well as he'd have liked. In fact, that image, at least part of it, was bringing the temperature in the mess room up more than a little, if the flush on the young officer's face was any indication. 

Again, there was that brief hint of a communication between the cocky little pickpocket and the officer, just a flashing of exchanged glances, but still nothing that seemed to have any real meaning, any more than that last bit of conversation had.

MacKenzie was clearly puzzled, but none of them intended to enlighten him. With all due respect, it just wasn't any of his business.

Well, he didn't have to understand everything about these men; he had come to realize he understood enough to make his own judgement, not have to depend on the grapevine to make it for him. Enough to realize his slide rule and spreadsheets just weren't enough, not once you left your desk.

And as for his report? Well, they'd gone out to do a job, all of them together. They'd done the job, and they'd come back, all of them, together. And if necessary, if he'd been the one to get bunged up, they would have dragged his sorry ass along behind them, making sure he got back too. He didn't have any doubts about that.

Surely those were the salient points that he needed to include in his report. All else was pretty much unnecessary chatter.

Epilogue:  
"So, MacKenzie, you've spent some time with Garrison and his hoodlums. Bet you're glad to get back to the civilized side of things," came the jovial comment from the uniformed officer at the Officer's Club, accompanied by a brisk slap on his back. 

"Well, of course he is, Daniels! Who wouldn't be! Can't quite imagine it myself, having to work along side them. They obviously haven't a clue of how things are to be done, and Garrison nearly as bad. Why I heard only last week he actually -"

"Yes, quite a bit of time, actually," MacKenzie interrupted whatever scurrilous piece of malice Major Roberts was intending to share to answer Lieutenant Daniels, though with a pleasant smile on his face. He glanced over to the doorway and saw the raised hand he'd been waiting for. 

He probably should have stopped there, but he found himself elaborating, even knowing this was possibly a very bad idea. Still, points given where points were due, as his father had a habit of saying. {"It really is getting amusing to realize how many of father's mannerisms and phrases I've picked up."}

And then, knowing he sounding even more like his father, though perhaps a tad more crisp in his delivery, he turned to Lieutenant Daniels and Major Roberts. 

"And, with all due respect, gentlemen, I'd gladly serve with Lieutenant Garrison and his men again, any time. Really quite remarkable, in any number of ways. Oh, they are all more than a little unconventional, to be sure, but I was quite favorably impressed by their skills, their teamwork, and their loyalty to each other, Garrison included. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have an invitation to join them for a drink, someplace called 'Silk's', I believe. There's the Lieutenant now, over by the door. Good day, gentlemen."

And he walked away toward the young officer waiting by the entrance, leaving an open-mouthed duo to sputter and exclaim and wonder just how those cons had managed to corrupt another up and coming officer in such a short time.


End file.
